


The Slipperies

by Lightning_Strikes_Again



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Adult/Mature themes relating to sexuality, Allura gets an unexpected lesson in Galran physiology, Appearances from Lotor's generals, Attracting mates through pheromones, Comedy angst/drama, Dayak and Coran costar, Dayak and Coran in nanny mode, Emperor Lotor, F/M, Lotor struggling through ten-thousand years of sexual repression, Lotura generally being a disaster while the two pine for each other desperately, Lotura hormones get a huge wakeup call, Season 6? Never happened, Some references to season 6 and 7 content but with different context, canon divergent after season 5, depictions of sickness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-09
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2019-09-14 16:47:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16916580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lightning_Strikes_Again/pseuds/Lightning_Strikes_Again
Summary: Lotor gets a case of the slipperies in the middle of an intergalactic meeting. Or so he thinks. Chaos ensues when he discovers his strange illness stems from a completely different problem, mutated by his mixed blood--and that it has a strong, surprising effect on Princess Allura.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Aicosu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aicosu/gifts).



> Disclaimer: I do not own Voltron: Legendary Defender. 
> 
> I blame Lotura discord entirely for this. Love you all. Aicosu, I promised I would write this, and so here it is! Sorry for the delay, haha.

It started as a bead of sweat upon his brow—an ache in his bones. And then it hit full-force. Lotor, the Galran Emperor, beloved ally of the Voltron Coalition and Bringer of Peace, stood up suddenly in the middle of a debrief on planet Earth.

The generals from all different galaxies looked up at him, cutting off mid-sentence.

When his hand pulled away from the table, it left behind a sweaty imprint, his claws dripping. His cobalt eyes stared at the imprint in horror.

“Emperor Lotor,” called one of the Earth generals. His voice was gruff and confused. “Do you disagree with this taxation?”

Lotor blinked, struggling to muddle through his own thoughts. “Apologies,” he said haltingly. He clasped his hands behind his back, face twisting in a grimace as he felt his sweat glands expand all across his skin, his royal tunic already beginning to soak up his sweat. “I have no quarrel with the taxation accords—but I must leave immediately.”

From far across the table, Princess Allura watched him, her brows knitting together. “Are you alright?” she called softly.

He gave them all a quick bow. “I am fine,” he said, voice rough. And then he straightened and quickly exited the room in a flurry of his elegant robes, his heart beginning to pound as his mouth opened, breathing in quick, silent gasps of air.

The instant the door shut with a click, Lotor leaned against a wall, closing his eyes. “Oh, no,” he moaned to himself. They were right in the middle of brokering the biggest peace treaty ever enacted across the universe.

This couldn’t be happening now.

It just couldn’t.

Meanwhile, back in the room, the generals and ambassadors and various other representatives were murmuring in shock at the Emperor’s sudden and unexplained departure. Some were worried they had offended him by suggesting the Galra Empire pay taxes alongside everyone else to maintain their new United Alliance fleet.

One Coran stood up from his seat, eyes suspicious. He rubbed his chin as he peered at the sticky, wet handprint Lotor had left on the table.

And then suddenly, his lips stretched, and he began to laugh.

The sound further surprised the crowd in the room.

Coran, without a beat, slicked his finger into handprint and cackled. “It’s the slipperies. I never thought I’d see the quiznaking quintant when _Lotor_ would get the _slipperies_.”

* * *

The Emperor lay in his bed within the Galaxy Garrison, his naked chest raising and lowering with hitched breath after hitched breath. By now, every inch of him shined with an outpouring of sweat and hormones, and it was beginning to soak hard into the bedsheets twisted around his body. His eyes were glassy, his beautiful white hair plastered in matted locks against his haggard cheeks.

Suddenly, the door to his room flew open in a slam. “Blood Emperor Lotor,” called out a sharp, aged female voice. “What in the universe are you doing?!”

Lotor squeezed his eyes shut and groaned. “Not now, Dayak. Leave me, please.”

“How dare you get sick on this most important occasion. I taught you better than that.”

He inhaled a suffering breath. “Do you honestly believe,” he retorted in exhaustion, “I would _choose_ this?” He turned his face to look at her blearily, his white hair straggling across his pillow. In doing so, beads of sweat rolled down his sharp temples and over the slope of his nose. His strong and long limbs were limp against his bed sheets, sweat dripping from his claws onto the floor.

The old Galran woman stared at him, eyes wide at the extent of his illness. Her jaw dropped a fraction. And then, after another tick or two, she shut the door. She sat down beside his bed and without preamble began to blot at his face with a corner of a blanket, like some worried grandmother. “Oh, this will not do,” she muttered to herself, her wrinkled lips pursing in concern. “This will not do at all—we cannot hide this.”

He moaned against the blot of cloth on his face, sputtering as she partially suffocated him with the sheet. “Stop. Dayak.” He grabbed onto her thin wrist to pull her away.

In doing so, he coated her with a slimy film, and she made a face of disgust as she stared down at him, pausing in her work.

Lotor released her. When he gasped for breath, his fangs shone weakly in the light. “I cannot attend any further events today,” he said. “Possibly tomorrow as well. I need—I need someone who can represent the empire in my place.”

Dayak stared down at him. “You are the Blood Emperor,” she reminded him, voice hardening in panic. “Blood Emperors do not get sick. And this disease—it is for old Alteans. You are too young, much too young, to be having this.”

“Am I?” he murmured tiredly. “Dayak, please. I need a Representative Pro Tem. You are the most qualified of my entourage, to ensure we are treated fairly in these coalition dealings.”

His old governess tsked at him in worry. “I would do whatever you command, my Emperor. But it should be _you_ brokering this treaty, not me.” She hesitantly dared to push back his straggly hair from his eyes, trying not to react to the strange, sticky wetness that coated her fingers from the action. “It is, after all, what you have desired for millennia.”

Lotor huffed in exhaustion up at her, rolling his eyes before closing them. “And then you wonder why I suffer from this, being so old.”

“But you are still physically far too young,” she said petulantly. “And even that mind of yours can be quite childish. This must be a fluke of some kind—perhaps it _is_ contagious. I know that…spastic advisor of the Princess had admitted to a recent case of it.”

“No Altean,” Lotor pressed, voice hoarse, “can pass on the slipperies to another. It is an immune issue.”

“Then stress,” Dayak said, wagging her finger. “This must be stressed-induced. You have not slept in decaphoebs despite my sound advice that you should. Quintessence simply cannot compensate for such self-abuse, you know that.”

He opened his eyes and gave her a petulant look, leaning his heavy cheek against his pillow. “You whacked me with a rod as a child,” he accused suddenly, his patience wearing thin under the weight of his illness. “What do you know of caring for the self?”

Her wrinkled lips pulled down, her eyes flashing. She gently flicked his temple. “You are a silly boy,” she said. “Even now, pain must still be your teacher. Because you never learned how to avoid it.”

Lotor’s lips pulled up in a light snarl before the energy bled out from him. “I am your Emperor,” he said weakly. He hardly moved on the bed. “You will not speak to me like this.”

“And I was your governess,” she retorted lightly, “long before you were my Emperor.” She returned to gently blotting at his face, soaking up the sweat beds along his temples and pulling away, only for new beads to form. “The others are aware you have fallen ill. I suppose, if you are to remain like this, it is best if I stand in and report to you.”

By then, the sheets were clinging hard to him, completely sweat-soaked. “Yes,” he said. “Thank you.”

“Hn.” Her sharp, delicate nose twitched. “You smell…strange as well. I shall have the servants draw you a bath.”

Lotor gave her a dry look. “They are not servants. Humans call them employees. You will cause great offense if you call them servants—please do not start another intergalactic war.”

“The Galra do not know peace,” she retorted, raising a thin brow. The only indication that she was joking was the slight tilt of her thin lips. And even then, Lotor suspected she partially spoke her true opinion.

“Dayak.”

“Yes, yes,” she waved him off. “Peace. Employees. I will not schmooze our allies as you do, but I will remain civil, as it were.”

The ill emperor stared up at her, searching her red, piercing eyes.

For a brief moment, Lotor considered the possibility that Dayak could easily drive a knife in his heart—usurp the throne for her own taking, just when he was at his most vulnerable—

And then he sighed and turned his head away. His beautiful voice hoarsened further in exhaustion. “I do not have the energy for a bath. Do not bother to ask the employees to draw me one.”

Dayak’s aged voice echoed in his ear, this time with a hardened worry. “You’re emitting a rather strange scent, Lotor. And it isn’t—” her face twisted— “it isn’t simply the smell of sweat.”

“The slipperies are in fact an illness,” he murmured petulantly against his pillow, groaning at the sensation of sweat beads slipping down his body.

“Have you ever had this before? These slipperies with the scent change?”

His voice was small, muffled. “No.”

His governess paused, as if preparing to argue. “And you’re certain that this is truly the slipperies? And not something else?”

With great effort, Lotor blearily raised a clawed hand, showing the beads of sweat as they dripped from his flushed skin. “What else could it be.”

Dayak made an indignant noise. “Perhaps I do not understand Altean physiology as I well as I should like, but my nose is never wrong, young man. I have memories of Alteans with the slipperies, and none of them smelled the way you do now.”

The emperor groaned. “You know I am not fully Altean. It is likely just…a different expression, with respect to what I am.” 

She paused, as if calculating. Then she said, almost delicately, “On the contrary, I suspect your body is attempting to rid itself of a toxic buildup.”

His huff was muffled by the pillow. “Dayak, you worry too much. I have not been poisoned.” He knew it to be true, as he had not eaten anything since arriving on Earth.

“No, no,” she waved him off in increasing concern. “I mean something innate within you. This is not simply a case of the slipperies. Perhaps it truly is stress-induced—there are hormones associated with—"

He groaned. “—Oh, can you not simply leave me to suffer in silence?”

“No, not when the health of my Blood Emperor is at stake.” She stood up from her chair. “You are the stabilizing force of the Galran Empire. If you die, then all will be tossed into chaos once more. You should be thanking me for my diligence.”

The ill man grumped, then attempted to pull a bedsheet over his face, only for it to make an odd slurping sound against his sweaty skin and plaster against his cheek. A strangled noise of frustration escaped him. “If you wish to be diligent,” he moaned petulantly, “then do please ask the employees for a new set of bedsheets. Several, in fact.”

“And a bath,” Dayak added.

* * *

Meanwhile, the Alliance had erupted into an odd mix of amusement and concern. Coran’s laugh was enough to settle political fears, but then several representatives expressed worry about the slipperies as a contagion.

“Oh, not to worry,” Coran said merrily, pulling on his mustache, still looking devious. “The slipperies are not a contagious disease. It’s a standard ailment that old Alteans get.”

One of the Earth representatives, Samuel Holt, pushed up his glasses and said incredulously, “But Emperor Lotor appears so young!”

Coran shrugged. “He’s ten-thousand years old. That’s well past the time to get slipperies, you know.” He scratched his chin. “I’m rather a bit jealous, there. I wonder if he’s ever had them before, at that rate.”

Sam blinked at that, his mouth dropping open. And then, in an attempt to avoid appearing as a fool, he managed to say, “Of course. Yes. I suppose the Emperor is rather…mature in years.”

Still sitting in her seat was one worried Princess Allura of Altea. She tapped her fingers on the table next to her holopad, her white brows knitted in great concern. “Coran,” she called out, “but Emperor Lotor has achieved such a lifespan thanks to quintessence. His body and mind are as young as my own. The physiological processes for slipperies would therefore not even—”

“—Are you saying,” asked one of the Coalition representatives, nervously tapping his fingers together, “that your advisor is incorrect, and that this is a contagious disease?”

Allura turned to him and gave a strained smile, worry deep in her eyes. “Oh, I do not mean it like that. His visible symptom would suggest the slipperies. I simply express concern that we do not yet fully understand how quintessence interfaces with a life form, especially when used to extend one’s lifespan.” 

A reoccurring tension blanketed the entire group at the mention of quintessence—the immortality-providing energy that the Galrans had used to ravage the universe for millennia. It was no secret that the humans of Earth desired its power as much as any other planet.

It was part of why Lotor was so desperately needed to help broker parameters for its responsible use across the Coalition. So few understood it as well as he did.

Baujal, leader of the Taujeerians, turned his face to Allura. “You are exceptionally concerned for Emperor Lotor. Princess, do you speak in such concern as his friend, or out of concern for unexpected consequences when using quintessence?”

The princess stood up, stress lining her face. “As his friend, of course. _And_ out of concern for the consequences.” She dusted off her royal skirts, her crown glinting in the light. “Excuse me, please. As one with deep alchemical knowledge regarding quintessence, I feel I should follow after him and help to stabilize him if need be.”

“Of course, Princess Allura.” Samuel Holt’s eyes softened as he stared at her. “Do let us know if we can help in any way. We can take a break from all these boring talks for now. Why, it’s almost lunch anyway.”

She managed a weak but genuine smile at the father, her heart squeezing at how naturally Samuel Holt seemed to accept and care for everyone. It reminded her of her own father. “Thank you.” And then she turned to her advisor. “Coran? I believe it may be helpful for you to come with me.”

“Certainly, princess.” He straightened his collar and followed after her, his elfin ears perked at the sound of a whisper from the back end of the table—

_“—Awfully concerned for just being friends.”_

_“Think they’re having an affair?”_

_“Wouldn’t be surprised.”_

* * *

Lotor managed to have only a few good moments of silence to himself as he lay in the bath of cool water and bubbles that Dayak had demanded for him. He’d thought to raise more dissent against such an indulgence, but as he lay there, he found himself relaxing for the first time since the onset of his symptoms, his sweat glands seeming to sigh in relief. His temples still dripped with sweat, but his eyes were closed as he leaned his head back against the neck rest, deeply inhaling the clean, comforting scent of the bath bubbles.

And then his door—how did so many people know his passcode?—slammed open again.

He managed a groan before saying, “I am bathing. Please leave.”

The footstep echoes were lighter and spryer than Dayak’s. Then Ezor’s voice bounced off the walls. “I heard you’re sick?” she called out, not paying attention to his request. She popped her head into the wash room, her blue eyes wide in dark curiosity. “Like, you never get sick. What’s going on?”

“Does no one have a sense of shame or privacy anymore?” he murmured tiredly. He opened his eyes as he turned to look at her, his white hair swirling atop the water and mixing with the bubbles. “I am naked. Please leave.”  

The woman shrugged and sat down on the step to his bathtub, munching on an Earth cookie. “Can’t see anything, so you’re good. Anyway, someone said you were dying? Figured I should make sure that’s not true.”

He closed his eyes and turned his face away, resigning himself to the fact that he had no energy to make her leave him alone. “Your concern is appreciated,” he murmured hoarsely, “but unnecessary. I’ll be fine.”

She raised a brow. “You don’t look fine. You look kinda melty.” She sniffed the air. “And you smell weird too.”

“…Thank you.”

“Do all Alteans smell like this when they get slipperies?” Her thin brows raised up. “You smell like—” she delicately lifted her nose—“you know, like one of those spice bushes on Feyiv? It’s not a bad smell, but…” Her voice trailed off in a strange way as her eyes dilated strangely.

Her hand suddenly clenched so hard into her cookie that it broke into crumbles upon her lap and the step of the bath.

Lotor’s ear flicked, his eyes snapping open at the sound as he instinctively tensed.

Ezor stood up, almost in a fright. “Oh, wow,” she said, suddenly laughing nervously. “Um, I forgot. I have to go…do something.” Her pink face was flushing. “Away from you.  Here, I mean. Like, now. Because you’re, um…um…”

And she scuttled off in a flurry, her multicolored appendage flying up at her movements.

She ran so hard from the room that she nearly barreled straight into one Princess Allura and her advisor, Coran. Ezor’s agile body only narrowly avoided them as she sped by, calling out behind her, “S-sorry!”

The princess’s eyes widened as her own hair flew back at the force of the wind from Ezor passing by. “What in the universe—?”

Coran leaned to the side, narrowing his eyes. “I say, wasn’t that one of Lotor’s generals—Ezor?”

“Yes,” Allura breathed. Worry constricted her heart further. “It was.” She began to walk faster toward Lotor’s expansive rooms. “Oh, something must be terribly wrong with him, Coran. Perhaps it truly isn’t the slipperies, but something more insidious. Do you know of any other Altean ailments that can mimic his symptoms?”  

“None that come to mind,” he said, her worry beginning to affect him as well. A genuine look of concern began to cross his features. “Unless this is some kind of hybrid illness based on his heritage.”

Allura gave him a look of fear, then quickened her pace again, her skirts flaring in an undignified run. The Garrison’s employees and wandering officers stared at the princess in surprise as she passed by, flanked by the long-limbed Coran in an unsettled run.

Just as Allura reached the closed door to Lotor’s rooms, she suddenly paused, her full lips dropping open. “Oh,” she whispered, her eyes dilating. Never in her life had she smelled such a desirable scent. Her Altean senses whirled at the smell. It was deep and masculine and so very, very warming. The instant she inhaled, it went straight to her brain and left her hazy. It struck her so hard that the next thing she knew, she was leaning against a wall, panting.

“Oh, dear,” she whispered to herself in panic, nearly dropping the collection of his meeting notes that she had grabbed for him. “ _Oh_.”

Something deep began to burn within her, and it flushed her face up to the tips of her elfin ears.

As Coran reached the door, he began to look absolutely ill, and he grabbed for Allura and began to pull on her hard. Some flicker of understanding crossed his face. “Ooh, boy. Time to go, yes—now is not a good time to visit, nope.”

“Coran,” Allura complained, trying to pull away from him. She dropped Lotor’s meeting notes. She was trembling in desire still for the scent—that beautiful, spicy scent—and all other thoughts or worries faded beneath its power. “Stop it.” With a rough jerk, she pulled away and began to backtrack, eyes dilated. “It’s Lotor. I can smell him, and he’s so—he’s so very—”

“—Try not to finish that sentence, princess.”

“—He needs me,” she moaned, the thought of him sending a sharp burn between her legs. Her pretty face flushed in emotion—embarrassment, heat. Her breasts began to ache the more she inhaled. “And I need him.”

The older Altean widened his eyes. “Princess, this isn’t a normal case of the slipperies. This is—he’s emitting some kind of pheromone. It’s—” his nose twitched—“particularly repellant to me, but obviously trying to attract you to him.”

Allura stared at Coran in awe, her face flushed. “He smells so terribly good,” she whispered in pain. “I suddenly—Coran, I want him.” Her shaky hand came up to her lower abdomen, which ached as well. “I want to bear his children, desperately. Only him.”

Coran’s eyes flew wide open, and he began tugging on her hard. “Princess,” he hissed in a whisper of panic. “Now is not the time to be saying these kinds of things aloud.” He still looked quite green as he gently wrenched her away.

Allura dug her slippered foot into the tile. “No,” she said forcefully, her eyes glazed in desire. “For the first time in decaphoebs, I know what I want.” She turned back to the door, licking her full bottom lip as she raised her hand to the keypad. Her fingers shook as some small part of her brain warned her about moving forward. “He gave me his passcode, if I should need anything—”

The advisor gave a noise of terror. He quickly tried to flail himself between Allura and the keypad, eyes wide. “Princess, I can’t allow you to open this door. I just can’t.”

By now, they were attracting attention.

Various officers and employees watched as the delicate and demure Princess Allura pushed her advisor away in a feat of inhuman strength, then quickly punched in the passcode to Emperor Lotor’s room.

The door unlocked and slid open, and Allura stepped one foot in, closing her eyes as she inhaled the delicious pheromones wafting in the air—

“Lotor,” she cried in great need, her nimble fingers raising up to pull at the buttons of her skirt. “Help. Please, I need you—I need you so desperately, as I have never needed anyone before—”

Her elfin ears flicked at the sound of a few water splashes to the right. She turned her head to see the open door to the washroom.

And then Lotor’s beautiful, hoarse voice echoed from beyond the door, carrying an edge of incredulity and concern. “…Princess?”

The delightful reverberation of his voice traveled from her ears to tingle hard between her legs. She placed her hand on her lower abdomen, her face twisting in pain as her fingers tightened into the material of her skirt. “Oh,” she whispered. “Lotor, please. I’m—I ache so terribly—”

The sound of water splashing left her with a hazy air. “Princess!” came his strained voice. It seemed he had been in the bath and was struggling to get out and wrap himself in a towel. There came the sound of a heavy drip of water onto the tiles. His hoarse voice strengthened in concern for her. “Are you injured? Poisoned? What in the stars transpired since I…” His voice trailed off as he exhaustedly appeared at the threshold of the washroom, a flood of the bath water and bubbles still slipping from him beneath the white towel he tightly held about his waist.

Allura stood here in the doorway, her eyes dilated hard and chest heaving as she stared at him, the stress on her face tightening further at the sight of his unclothed body, glimmering wet in the light and beading with more pheromone-containing sweat. His long hair was plastered in a wild array about his shoulders and cheeks, his eyes wide as he stared back at her, something overcoming him as well.

His strange illness, now in full swing, had heightened more of his senses. And he could smell her, even from across the room.

Lotor inhaled deeply without thinking, his thin lips dropping open in awe at the overwhelming presence that was Princess Allura of Altea. His irises darkened with desire as he inhaled her own scent, his Galran instincts shuddering through him at the smell of her desire.

She was not injured, by far.

This was the scent of a woman who desired a mate.

Allura stepped forward, the lowered lights of his room glimmering the gold crown upon her forehead and the gold threads of her royal dress, appearing as some heavenly being before him. Her alto voice pulled hard. “Lotor?”

As she drew closer to him, he felt the deep pressure and exhaustion in him wear away, his sweat glands relaxing in relief. He instinctively drew closer to her, his mind hazing in an odd way. “Princess.” Her title glided from his mouth like poetry. 

Her beautiful face tightened in want. “How forward is it of me, if I said I very much want to bear your children?”

And it was then that a panicked voice—Coran—cried out, “Princess, no!”

And suddenly, the older Altean suddenly tackled Allura to the floor in a flail of limbs and fatherly terror.

* * *

It was quite a bit later before the ruckus in the Garrison calmed down over the rumors of Emperor Lotor and Princess Allura’s…mishap. Some thought perhaps there had been some kind of targeted poisoning of the both of them—others, who had witnessed Allura’s desperate attempt to get into Lotor’s room, wondered if the whole story of Lotor’s alien illness was a fabrication to cover up a scandalous rendezvous with the princess.

The peace talks had since gone on hold, with the two royals incapacitated.

Dayak now was pacing the floor of Lotor’s room, looking perturbed. “I cannot believe this. Of all the things. _This._ What a way to begin your reign as a Blood Emperor. In all the histories, there was never one who had such a scandal as you do now.” 

A sweaty Lotor—at least clean—sat up in his bed, disgruntled as he held cooling packs to his body and leaned into the air of several fans at the foot of his bed. He was not so entirely sweat-soaked as before—as if somehow, seeing Allura in such desperate want for him had appeased some part of his illness.

He said in exhaustion to Dayak, “What do you mean?”

Her red eyes flicked to his in a whip-like fashion. “I mean,” she snarled, “that of all times for you to be emitting _mating_ pheromones, you choose the most inopportune time.”

The ill man stared at her, gaping slightly. “Mating pheromones?”

“Yes, why else do you think you ensnared Princess Allura to your bedchambers. The poor girl is absolutely mortified now and hiding in her rooms.” She wagged a bony finger at him. “And I have it on good word from the princess’s advisor that you were making googly eyes at her too. Which makes me think you were targeting her intentionally, above all others.” 

Lotor’s eyes widened in innocence. “I did no such thing.” He waved his hand at himself, almost frantic. “Dayak, I have never used the deep abilities of our people, and certainly not to underhandedly influence a most respect ally. I am in control. I am always in control.”

“Except for when you are not!” she said, raising her voice in a shrill way as she flicked his robed arm. “And you are not in control right now, young man. I knew that scent was trouble, I just knew it.”

His face twisted. “But I have the slipperies,” he argued lightly. “That has nothing to do with mating.”

“And you are also of mixed blood,” Dayak reminded him, voice flat. “Altean illness may not affect you in the same way it does full-blooded Alteans. We Galrans are a passionate people, you know. That Coran fellow explained the slipperies are in fact an immune response to some toxic buildup or damage. He suspects, given your heritage and the targeted pheromones you’re emitting, that you’re particularly repressed.”

“Repressed,” he repeated incredulously.

Dayak shrugged. “A rather diplomatic way to suggest that you did this to yourself, going thousands of years without a good rut—and further denying yourself around potential, fertile romantic partners, like the princess.” 

On the bed, Lotor’s jaw dropped a fraction, and his face flushed. He sat up a bit straighter on the bed, his spine stiffening. “You mean to suggest that—?”

His governess suddenly stuck a holopad in his face. “I have here a list of available women who have agreed to be paid in exchange for their rutting services.”

If it were possible, Lotor’s jaw dropped more. “You mean prostitutes,” he said, his brows knitting together.

“Well, yes. You have to get this under control before you accidentally offend even more powerful allies. If that’s possible. Princess Allura was likely the most powerful ally you had, next to the Voltron paladins.”

His breath hitched as he stared up at her with a new fear. “Is she not still my ally?”

“You embarrassed her greatly before the entire Coalition and have spread slander upon your name and hers,” Dayak said dryly. “If I were her, I’d gut you myself.”

Lotor fell silent upon the bed, his mind racing. “No,” he murmured. “The princess is not Galran as we are—she would not do such a thing.”

“What a pity,” his governess said, in a rare form of humor as her lips twitched. “You look as though you desire to be gutted.”

He leaned back against his pillows, wiping sweat from his brow. He gave Dayak a dark look. “I would prefer a sword in my chest over sharing my body with a woman from the port slums.”

The older Galran inhaled a suffering sigh. “And what other option is there? You have no established romantic partners to call on. You are already too…affected to hold off until we can find an appropriate Empress for you. You cannot, as one of your first acts as Emperor, broadcast openly for a harem—you’re already considered undisciplined as it is.” She waved her hand. “And you most certainly cannot call on Princess Allura, for she would not have you.”

His large fist clenched at that. Princess Allura meant many things to him—most of which he did not dare to even consider. “And why,” he asked, voice even, “would she not have me? Barring, of course, the aforementioned slandering of her name.”

Dayak’s eyes slid to him, seeing past the layers of his smooth face to a lonely boy. “Because you are only half-Altean,” she said simply. “You cannot give her full-blooded children to carry on her line, if you can reproduce at all.”  

* * *

On the other side of the hall was one miserable princess. “Oh, Coran,” Allura moaned in embarrassed, her voice muffled by her hands over her face. She was back in her room, the effects of Lotor’s pheromones having worn off with the distance from Lotor—and from Coran and the paladins of Voltron strong-arming her into a very cold shower. She now wore a fluffy white gown, huddled with blankets as she occasionally shivered from the effects of the cold water. “What have I done. I have made a great fool of myself.”

“There, there, princess.” Coran sat down beside her on the bed, patting her back. “Not to worry—we got you out just in time.”

Her breath hitched in horror. “I told Lotor I wanted to bear his children.” Her hands fell away from her face, and she turned to Coran, beautiful eyes bloodshot with tears. “I’ve never felt so embarrassed in my life. I will never be able to face him again.” Her eyes bubbled with tears. “Or the Coalition members who heard me, by the stars. What a disaster.”

“It’s not as bad as you—”

“—All of our allies now likely think me some, some _floozy_.” She waved her hand. “I frightened my fellow paladins—I struck Lance in the face, Coran. And I pushed Pidge.” Tears slipped down her cheeks. “What a paragon of virtue and peace I am. I will never be taken seriously again.”

Coran scratched his chin. “To be fair, Lance probably had it coming.”

A noise of great sorrow escaped her as she hid her face again. “I am supposed to be on a mission for peace across the universe, proving that I am not simply a brood mare as the Earth humans believe princesses to be. Instead, I feel so embarrassed that surely even my ancestors would deny me.”

Her advisor rested a hand upon her delicate shoulder. “It is not your fault, princess. And likely, not particularly Lotor’s either. Just…bad timing.”

She cried into her hands. “I didn’t know I could be so…so affected. That Galran even could emit such a—” Even the thought of Lotor’s scent made her feel weak once more. “You said it was just the slipperies!”

Coran swallowed hard and laughed nervously. “Well, I mean. It acts like slipperies, yes. But I, um, I rather forgot that he’s part Galran too. And they _do_ have particularly strong…courtship and mating tendencies, usually for behind closed doors. I think those and a stress-induced case of the slipperies got all jumbled about in him.”

Allura wiped her eyes, only for more tears to bubble up. “You said it was a pheromone, but why was I the only one affected? No one else made a fool of themselves as I did.”

He nervously tapped his fingers together. “Well, uh, as you know, Galrans have different physiologies from Alteans, specializing from our far-distant common ancestor to be—”

“—I do not need a history on evolution, Coran,” she deadpanned, voice watery.

“Well…these kinds of pheromones,” he said hesitantly, “are very intimate for Galrans, designed to further entice a selected mate during a peak breeding season.”

Her bloodshot eyes snapped to him. “Selected mate?” she repeated.

Coran was beginning to flush now, feeling awkward. “Typically, Galrans have more control over such things. I suspect his mixed blood and stress make it more difficult.”

Allura tilted her head, narrowing her eyes. “What are you saying? That he did not intentionally mean to exude these pheromones? Or that he did not intentionally select me?”

The advisor made a noise of discomfort. “Likely the former. Though…I wonder sometimes about the latter. He seems oddly fond of you for just being allies.”

She blinked away tears, mind racing. “Do you mean you think Lotor, to some capacity, finds me to be a possible mate?” 

Coran shrugged helplessly. “That boy is a hard one to read. But I know one thing. He’d never intentionally disrupt peace talks in the name of simply finding someone to warm his bed.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to the following who reviewed last time: dragonofyang, Shorthairedme, beansquat, TSValing, mutedtempest, garbage_dono, NickyADon, Capitalbelle, fanfictionwriter1315, Lady_Experiment, Dasha, Kitani, anything_past_or_present, tisifone21, COCO_HIMECHAN, UnnoticedCropCircle, trash.exe, usernamealwaystaken, sleepyscribbles, LeseLille, and jediclarinetist! I really appreciate it!

Later that evening, Dayak appeared at the door to the rooms of Princess Allura. She knocked in a curt fashion, displeased to have found herself acting as Lotor’s errand runner.

A familiar voice—Advisor Coran of Altea—greeted her from the keypad speaker, as well as an obnoxious view up his nose, then his narrowed eye, from the keypad screen. “Yes, hello,” the Altean man called out. “I’m sorry, the princess isn’t accepting visitors at this time, especially not anyone from the entourage of Emperor Lotor, who is quite dangerous but not for the reasons I first suspected. Or maybe they are the same reasons. Just a different expression of the same, sort of general—"

Dayak’s withered face twisted hard. “—Open the door,” she commanded. “If you reject me, then you are rejecting Emperor Lotor’s Representative Pro Tem. I am here on official business.”

Coran opened the door, looking stressed and like he had run his hand through his hair in a frazzle several times. He peeked his head out, carefully keeping the door as closed as possible. It partially squished his cheeks. “Um, no. Sorry. This is an Emperor Lotor _no-zone_ at the moment.” He flailed his hand in the open space. “And Princess Allura is very, very ill. She regrets that she’s, um, too sick to take calls or entertain anyone…so I’ll just throw in some diplomacy disclaimers, well wish and well wish—”

The woman’s lips thinned. “I can smell your lies upon you.” Her voice sharpened. “In my day, such a haphazard slight would have been an act of war.”

Coran’s orange brows flew up mildly. “Oh. Well, that would rather disrupt this intergalactic peace conference. About peace, you know.”

“…Yes.” She shoved the letter at him, worry apparent in her red eyes for the first time. “Now. Give this to the Princess. The Blood Emperor demanded I deliver it to her. He said it was urgent.”

The man awkwardly readjusted his grip on the letter, which was a smooth, white parchment with a purple mark bearing the seal of Emperor Lotor. “Are you quite sure I should actually give this to her? After all, he was giving the princess that sort of googly-eyed mating look that promises a scandalous rendezvous amongst the juniberries.”

Dayak’s spine stiffened in irritation. “Advisor Coran—”

He leaned forward conspiratorially, using the letter itself to hide his mouth from potential onlookers. “—And it’s not that I’m entirely against the union, but that I was hoping for something a little more diplomatic, with pizzazz.”

The woman’s thin brow arched up. She paused for a time, searching his eyes. “…You are not against this? After you tackled your own princess to the floor and dragged her out of the Blood Emperor’s personal quarters?”

Coran’s elfin ears flicked back in surprise. His voice lowered to a whisper, but it was still quite loud, mostly because he had little idea how to whisper. “They seem to like each other alright. It’s a strong political alliance, you know. But we can’t have them both tripping over their own hormones on the finish line to ceasing this war.”

The Galran woman huffed. “It is not the strongest political alliance the Blood Emperor could make,” Dayak retorted. “Your princess has no world to add to our empire and is not of Galran blood.” She still carried her rod under her arm and grabbed for it, tapping it in her thin palm. “Her ownership of the Voltron lions is attractive, of course, but it means little if she interferes with Lotor’s plans.”

The man had the decency to gasp. “Madam. It is _your_ emperor who flooded her senses with Galran pheromones.”

Dayak’s brow ticked. “And it is _your_ princess who had the indecency of strong-arming herself into the emperor’s personal quarters and accosting him while he was bathing, of all things.”

Coran raised his finger. “Now look here, madam, you know as well as I that Princess Allura would never—”

Dayak leaned forward, her voice darkening. “—In case you are unaware, such pheromones work to heighten preexisting emotion, to encourage mating. If your princess had no attachment to Emperor Lotor, then she would not have been affected in the first place.”

Coran blinked. Then he dared to poke Dayak’s shoulder, his eyes lighting up in righteous anger. “Now, I say. If your emperor hadn’t had cow eyes for the princess, then his pheromones wouldn’t be targeting her to start!”

Suddenly, the man named Coran was pulled back by his collar into the room by an irritated Allura. She was unkempt and wearing a white robe. “Coran, really, now is _not the time_ —!”

The man squawked as he flailed backwards in a crash of limbs.

And then the door shut. And the hallway grew completely silent.

Dayak stood outside the shut door, blinking with a twist on her face. Then she sniffed, raising her nose. “…What imbeciles.”

* * *

The frazzled Allura could smell a vestige of Lotor’s scent upon the letter she’d stolen from Coran, and it sent a tingle through her as she unfolded the paper and clenched it tightly. “I cannot believe,” she said, voice strained, “that he sent me a letter. How traditional and…formal this is.”

Coran was still rasping on the floor, blearily reaching out for sympathy. A crocodile tear appeared at the corner of his eye. “My back—!” 

Allura looked at him with thinned lips and then turned around. “—Oh, tish tosh. You tackled me earlier into a hard floor and were just fine about it.” Then she paused. “…Now, what are the odds that this formal gesture from Lotor is a severance of our status as friends?”

After such a spectacle, it would be only logical, for them to part ways and be distant, if only for the sake of respect amongst the other Coalition planets.

Coran sighed as he sat up from the floor, lightly twisting to crack his ribs back into place. “Hard to say, princess. But the important thing would be to maintain the alliance. If he wasn’t interested in that, I dare say he wouldn’t be sending you letters through Dayak.” He stumbled up into a stand, holding onto a nearby bookcase.

Meanwhile, Allura’s heart pounded as she opened the letter.

_Dear Princess Allura, my deepest apologies for my unforgiving behavior on this day_ , it said. His script was calligraphic—clean and slanted to the right. _I had no intention of influencing you as I did. It appears I am in need of much rest and will remain in quarantine until I am well enough to control myself fully. I owe you greatly in return for any injury to you or your honor and request that you let me know what I can do for reparations. I do hope we may yet remain united allies for peace and prosperity throughout the universe. Yours sincerely, Lotor_

She read over the words again, inhaling the faded scent of the emperor.

Coran hooked his chin over her shoulder and remarked, “Oh, look at that. Only a few water stains on the bottom of the paper. Maybe that means he’s getting better.”

Allura blinked and only then noticed that the paper was in fact somewhat wrinkled in places—as if Lotor had struggled to preserve the paper while writing it with his strange case of the slipperies. Her full lips twitched in a mix of amusement and some strange form of pain. “He must have gone through much trouble to write this letter. Maybe I should go see him—”

“—Ah, ah,” Coran said, pulling the letter from her hands. “That’s the pheromones talking. Even the paper is dangerous, it seems.”

She gave him a flat look. “I am in full control of my faculties, thank you.” Her face twisted. “But I do oddly wish to see him. The letter smells so good to me, you know.”

He paused for a second. And then he shoved a new pen and paper in her hands and said, “If you want to talk to him, then you’ll have to talk through this. Because you can’t make babies on paper.” He paused. “At least, not ones that are real.”

The princess whined, her eyes half-lit in want for Lotor. “Would it be so terrible, for me to bear a child with him?”

Coran swallowed hard, his face flushing. “Well, princess. I mean…” he began to flail his arms. “Children are serious commitments, you know! And he’s um, already of mixed heritage.”

Allura narrowed her eyes. “What are you implying?”                             

“Simply that I am unsure if he can even _give_ you children.” His voice softened as he reached out and lifted her chin. “Galran blood—we know it can flex quite a bit, but I know of no account where a Galran of mixed blood produced a viable heir.” He lightly pulled away to fluff one of her curls in fatherly affection. “If you chase him, I don’t want you to be disappointed. There’s science to these things, you know.”

The woman pressed her lips together tightly. She had a vision of touching her lower abdomen, and it remaining tight and without markings of motherhood. Her body still burned hard for Lotor. “…Then we shall simply adopt, if nothing else,” she declared airily. And then she set pen to paper and began to write. “Coran, do please look over my shoulder. I feel an immense desire to write something scandalous in nature.”

“Princess.” He leaned in a bit, his orange brows furrowing. “I understand you like this fellow, but…are you not at all worried by the thought of your family’s blood dying out?”

She was already writing Lotor’s name, the action itself buzzing her fingers with pleasure. “Oh, Coran. I am not the last Altean in the universe, by a large count. Our kind will survive with a great genetic variance, even if I do not reproduce.”

“But the family line. The royal family line,” he pressed. “Thousands of years of tradition.”

Her blue and purple eyes slid to Coran. And she softened. “I am not so special. Not even my quintessence abilities are innate to the royal line, as evidenced by Honerva’s mastery despite her common birth.” She looked back down and continued to write.

“You’ve always said you wanted to be a mother,” Coran pleaded. “It’s one thing to go about on some hanky panky with this man, even for a plucky political marriage to shake up the battle lines. But there is no guarantee you can achieve both of your dreams.”

“You are, as always, a helpful advisor.” Her voice began to strain as she wrote her first sentence. “But think on a greater level, Coran. I am the mother of the new Intergalactic Coalition.” Her voice grew even more passionate as she recalled the scent of Lotor upon his letter. “Regardless of a blood heir, the very planets will also be our children. We will rebirth entire civilizations and foster them. Our combined image will be reflected in every city we raise, for millennia.”

Coran stood there for a time, blinking. And then suddenly, he pulled out a hankie from his pocket, his eyes watering. “…What a beautiful metaphor.” And then he sniffled. “Oh, but don’t put that down in your letter. No, princess. Give me that pen, and work with me here. I say, if you want to hook this emperor of yours, then you better not scare him off with such declarations so soon.”

“Coran,” she whined.

“Ah ah, princess. I’m trying to watch out for you.” He dried his eyes and then primly folded his hankie and placed it back in his pocket. “You know how these things are. We have to determine his level of commitment to a true marriage alliance. You should play a little hard-to-get. A bit mysterious. Make him sweat for you.” He paused, then laughed nervously. “Metaphorically, I mean.”

The woman made a noise in the back of her throat, not unlike a strangled whine and a moan. “Oh, please, Coran, I’ve already told him I want to bear his children. It’s not like he doesn’t know I want him.”

“Yes, but that was under the influence of mating pheromones.” He gently tapped her nose with the pen, and Allura’s eyes crossed, and she wrinkled her nose. “I want him to declare his undying love to an Allura with her full faculties, you see. To have him make a bit of an idiot of himself for you. It’s really the least he could do after this pheromone fiasco.”

Allura pouted, as if she only halfway understood. “An idiot of himself? But Coran, he is an emperor, with a very tentative hold over his own vassals. He will not make an idiot of himself, as you say. And I would not ask that of him.”

“That’s the thing, princess,” Coran said cheerily. “If he loves you truly, then you will not even have to ask for it. This is a natural thing, what love does to people.”

* * *

_Dear Emperor Lotor_ , read Allura’s (Coran-proofed) letter. _I am sorry to hear that you must remain in quarantine for a time. I do hope you feel better soon. As for today’s mishap, I understand so little about Galrans that I did not think twice before coming to see you. I shall be more cognizant of such things in the future and will remain your ally. Sincerely, Allura_

“Oh, no,” Dayak complained from Lotor’s bedside as she read over his shoulder. “She signed it so informally. I fear she’s still affected.”

“This is _my_ letter and not yours,” Lotor murmured distractedly, pausing on the sleek, loopy script. He face-faulted when the sweat from his hands began to wrinkle her letter as well. “She at least is not personally demanding my head in return for her honor. Strange that she makes no comment about a reparation.”

“Reparation debts or not, you really need to accept a rutting offer soon,” Dayak pressed, narrowing her eyes. “This dillydallying is inappropriate. You could be easing your symptoms instead of making them worse while mooning over this Princess." 

He looked up, cobalt eyes bloodshot with irritation—and with need. He could smell Allura on her letter, and it both riled and calmed him at the same time. “I will not sleep with a prostitute.”

Her thin lips pressed together tightly. “How about an Altean one?”

“Regardless of heritage, I must decline.” He set the paper down upon his lap and added dryly, “I do not want to add to my list of ailments. You know how easily disease spreads through such behavior.”

“You are also endangering the outcome of these Coalition peace talks. The commanders of the Garrison have restricted any female employee or officer from wandering through this wing, in fear that Allura’s outburst was somehow contagious as well.” She waved her hand. “You have instigated several points of tension that were entirely unnecessary.”

Lotor huffed at that. “Do not speak to me as if this is my fault.”

“And do not continue to stall for time you do not have.” She rapped his arm lightly with her rod. “You must make a decision. You are the Blood Emperor of the Galra Empire. You take what you want. You get what you need. You do not forfeit political meetings simply because of rutting problems or illness.”

His tired eyes raised to her. “You speak out of both sides of your mouth,” he argued, voice raising with righteous indignation. “You say to take what I want, but you have already said what I want is impossible." 

The old woman crossed her arms, her rod still clasped in her hand. “You speak of Princess Allura.” 

Lotor’s face tightened. “You know it was not a fluke that in losing control, my scent adjusted to attract her above anyone else. I can no longer afford to ignore this…issue.”

Dayak’s grip softened upon the harsh rod in her hands, which was as much of a security blanket to her as Lotor’s armor was to him. “How very Galran of you,” she said stiffly to hide her pity. “But what will you do? The princess is neither the type to take a casual lover, nor is she likely willing to accept an official suitor of your mixed blood, if you cannot carry on her royal line.”

His clawed fingers tapped against Allura’s note.

He said nothing for a long time, simply thinking. And then eventually, he spoke, a defeat overcoming him. “The most obvious path is simply to accept this illness. If my body is purging itself of…built-up pheromones, then by proxy, it should end on its own. At some point.”

Dayak’s face twisted. “You cannot be serious.”

“I am quite serious.”

Her voice rose against him sharply. “You would deny yourself the duty to represent the empire, simply to wallow in unnecessary misery.”

Lotor quirked a brow in irritation. “I do not wish to further insult or further impose myself upon Princess Allura or some other poor ally.” He sighed. “I will simply…sweat this out and, with any luck, be done with it for the next ten-thousand years.”

Dayak huffed hard. “You say you will maintain celibacy in the name of not imposing upon an ally, when in fact your very absence is harmful to these negotiations. It may result in the abuse of your research into quintessence. Or worse, an abuse against our people.”

The emperor looked down in, his lips pressing together. “You are too melodramatic, Dayak.” He wiped his temple of sweat from his temples in exhaustion. “You care for the empire and for our fair treatment as well, as does Princess Allura and the honorable Samuel Holt of Earth. I am not the only one who can save the universe, you know.”

* * *

Over the next few days, word spread that Emperor Lotor’s strange condition had worsened, with his absence and Dayak’s tight lips heightening the mystery of his affliction, as well as the conflicting information about Allura’s involvement. Lotor remained secluded entirely within his chambers, sweating away pheromone after pheromone, and Dayak instead attended meetings on his behalf, displeased with the arrangement and only mildly softened by Samuel Holt’s silent offering of a human delicacy known as shrimp.

But conversation had grown tense.

A different human was talking at that point. “—to move storages off planet Feyiv and relocate them to—"

“—The Galra Empire,” Dayak cut into the conversation, setting yet another shrimp tail on her lunch plate, “finds your suggestion appalling, Earth man.”

Coran leaned on the table to whisper somewhat loudly, “That’s Commander Iverson.”

Her red eyes snapped to him briefly before she turned to the other human. “Commander Iverson,” she said flatly.

The commander huffed. “The Galran Empire simply cannot be the single holder of all the quintessence storages available.” He waved his hand. “Equal distribution is the only way to ensure further abuses are not—”

Dayak raised a thin, unamused brow as she raised up another shrimp from her plate. Her claws sunk into the delicate flesh in frustration. “—Further abuses?”

Iverson did not blink as he stared her down in disgruntlement. “Ten-thousand years of Galran abuse under your Emperor Zarkon.” A great tension flooded the conference table as several allies tightened their fingers around forks and pens and napkins. Iverson continued. “If you don’t allow for quintessence relocation and distribution, what else can we assume but that the Galran Empire doesn’t _want_ to share power with its allies?”

Dayak’s eyes narrowed. “A false assumption, Commander Iverson. Our new Blood Emperor, Lotor, is aware of the previous emperor’s abuses and has linked our intelligence systems with your own, and offered our armies to your causes.” Her thin lip pulled down. “We have submitted to Earth’s every request thus far. But now you are suggesting we tear up our own sacred lands for your sake.”

Princess Allura laughed nervously. She seemed to have her full faculties now, after days of the sick Lotor’s absence. “Perhaps Earth is unaware of the meaning attached to Planet Feyiv.”

Samuel Holt’s brows furrowed. “I was thinking it was the first planet the Galra conquered. Does _that_ make it a holy site?”

It was at that point Dayak rubbed her thin temples, glaring. Lotor had so much more patience for others. “Yes, Commander Holt. It is our sacred site. Planet Feyiv is the oldest land we have, given that our home world was destroyed.”

The Taujeerian leader leaned forward, his alien voice a trill into the tense air. “And why are you hoarding quintessence at such a location?”

Dayak’s red eyes tilted up to Princess Allura, who was supposedly Lotor’s closest ally. “I am beginning to feel,” she snapped, “that this conversation is not about fair distribution so much as it is about maliciously stripping the Galra of what is rightfully ours.”

There was an awkward pause. 

Allura’s dark hand clenched on her pen in worry, and she stood suddenly. “Friends,” she said quickly, voice polite but strained. “Allies both of Earth and of the Galra Empire. What we decide here today will set our path for generations to come. It is no secret that the universe before us has been war-torn and ravaged for millennia, and that the first victims of that terrible regime were the Galran citizens themselves.” She swallowed hard, throat tightening. “And then, soon after, my own people as well.”

Dayak watched her curiously, tense in anticipation.

Allura raised her chin. “It is a deep desire of mine that we work to restore first what has been taken from civilizations still living. I believe Emperor Lotor has signed for similar actions as well, signing over shiploads of quintessence for that very purpose.”

The old Galran woman gave a curt, sharp nod in affirmation.  

“He has also pledged to assist with the rebuilding of colonies for any misplaced civilization.” Allura clasped her hands together. “As a sign of his good faith, he has already funded the identification of a replacement planet and rescue of any of my own people still in hiding throughout the galaxy, to build a New Altea. I ask that we all keep these measures in mind as we discuss fair quintessence distribution. Our primary goal should be rebuilding what so many have lost.”

And then the Princess looked to Dayak, searching her eyes, as if to encourage her to speak.

The old woman narrowed her gaze, despising the new, little crack in her heart for this strange Altean princess, whom she found both nauseatingly kind and annoying. “The Galra Empire agrees with Princess Allura regarding the primary goal to rebuild,” she eventually said. Her voice raised. “It is for that reason Blood Emperor Lotor has set aside the ancient stores on Feyiv in hopes of regenerating our original home world of Daibazaal.”

A new silence of surprise came across the faces of several allies.

“What?” came the alarmed voice of Commander Iverson. “You’re rebuilding?”

Dayak airily waved her hand, her claws glimmering in the light dangerously. “As spoken by the princess,” she retorted, “the Galra were the first victims of Emperor Zarkon’s decisions. It is only fair we be allowed to rebuild accordingly.”

Her red eyes scanned the room, catch apprehension in the eyes of even Samuel Holt, whom she knew had been a captive of the Galra for a time.

The human man readjusted his glasses, almost nervously. “And this, uh, this storage on Feyiv. To regenerate your planet. Where did those stores come from?”

“Those stores,” Dayak retorted, “were from a time well before quintessence tracking. I could not tell you where it came from—perhaps it is even the partial remains from Daibazaal itself. As such, Blood Emperor Lotor has claimed that quintessence as our own. We will not yield to any further demand upon planet Feyiv.”

She watched Princess Allura closely.

Out of all their allies, the princess was sitting in a similar state of apprehension, her big eyes wide and at attention. But instead of staring at Dayak in fear, she was glancing about at their allies.

Dayak clicked her claws on the cold tabletop, watching the princess.

Commander Iverson stood, glaring at them all. “I would like to see physical evidence of these…pledges of good will,” he snapped. He waved his hand at Allura. “If your emperor is so capable of mind-controlling this one, then she might even be a plant for him to—”

The princess stood up, eyes blowing wide. “— _I beg your pardon_ ,.” Her pretty face flushed while the lines of her body tensed with righteous indignation.

He turned to her, quirking his brow in frustration. “I have heard the reports, that he used some kind of voodoo on you. I can’t tell if you’re still under his spell.”

Allura’s full lips dropped open. She made a noise in the back of her throat, as if incensed that her authority would be so questioned.

Coran stood up, nervously taking her hand and patting it. “Now, see here, whatever sort of report you’ve heard about—”

The princess cut in, voice hot. “—Commander Iverson, how dare you suggest that I would attend negotiations if I were compromised, or that Emperor Lotor would so maliciously attempt to compromise me. I am not under any voodoo, whatever that is. My goal has always been to preserve life, and that is precisely what I am trying to do in this conversation.”

There was a tense silence in the air as Allura glared at Iverson, who glared right back, searching her eyes for deceit.

Suddenly, an exhausted and strained, but merry voice slipped into the room. It was a smooth, velvet voice.

Male.

“...What in the universe is going on?” came the amused tone of one Emperor Lotor of the Galra.

Several people flinched and turned around in surprise.

His boots clicked lightly against the tiles as he entered. “I am sick for two days,” Lotor said mildly, waving his hand, “and negotiations descend into such chaos? Surely, I am not the only one who desires peace in this universe.”

Princess Allura’s palms grew sweaty in both anticipation and fear as she turned to look at him.

The emperor stood looking pale and worn in his royal robes of dark blue and orange. The usually vibrant lavender of his skin was muted, as if someone had drained the color from him. He had bags under his eyes. His white hair hung from him with little life. And yet, his back was ramrod straight, his chin lifted high. He bore no sign of sweat upon his brow.

Her heart skipped at the sight, and her face flushed in both delight and horror that they both stood unadorned, with her own hair in a frizz from pulling on it in frustration, her skirts wrinkled from sitting haphazardly.

His blue eyes snapped to her in worry, roving over her face before he bowed deeply, his white hair spilling down his shoulders. “Princess Allura,” he greeted.

It took all of her self-control to remain standing in silence before their many allies, without a waver in her voice or an awkward attempt to readjust her hair. “Emperor Lotor.” She lightly curtsied per his royal station, gathering up her skirts with a shaky hand.

The formality felt strange. She could not remember when she had last curtsied in such a way in his presence.

A nervous fluttering worked up her stomach to tighten her throat.

They straightened in unison, and at that time, Samuel Holt stood up, clearing his throat.

“Emperor Lotor,” Sam greeted, voice strained in a relief and an awkwardness as well. “I am glad you are well enough to finally rejoin us.”

Lotor faced him and offered a small, genuine smile. He had come to respect Samuel Holt after many days of interacting with him. His eyes crinkled in an amusement. “The raising of voices suggested quite the fun,” he murmured, tilting his head. “I would hate to leave such to only Dayak." 

Sam managed an amused huff of a laugh, even as Princess Allura sat back down hesitantly.

But Dayak cut through, voice sharp. “On the contrary, Blood Emperor,” she said curtly. “We have been accused of maliciously hoarding quintessence on Planet Feyiv, and the coalition is demanding we release such stores for their use.”

The emperor’s white brow flew up. “Is that so?”

Sam tried to rein in the increasing concern from Dayak, hoping not to irritate Lotor. “Your esteemed representative told us that the stores on Feyiv are untraceable to their original source, and that you are planning to use them to regenerate your home planet, Daibazaal. Can you confirm that for us, Emperor Lotor?”

His alien eyes searched Sam’s. “This is true,” he murmured evenly. Then he set down his datapad at an available, empty seat at the conference. The seat was to the right of Dayak, who likely scared off any willing neighbor. “My scientists are already working on the plans for applying those stores to planetary regeneration. I trust this is not an issue?”

His simple, mild response burned an emotion of consternation amongst the whole of the table.

Commander Iverson planted his hand on the table. “Your people,” he said, face twisted in righteous irritation, “are directly responsible for intergalactic enslavement and massacre. Why should they benefit from quintessence at all?”

Lotor sighed. “Because even if you despise us, Commander Iverson, the Galra need a home to live, or else we will continue to roam the stars in search of one.” His tone had flattened slightly. “Furthermore, the Galra once knew peace. My father burned much of our ancient libraries. Our art. Our culture. I have memories as a child of my father ordering the death of all who resisted his rule, and I was forced to watch every execution.” He looked vulnerable in that moment. It was likely a calculated decision—that he had returned to negotiations in such a sickly, healing state precisely for the advantage it offered him. “I pray you never have to endure what many noncombatant Galran citizens or I myself have endured. Many of us are tired of war and suffering. Galran hope lies in New Daibazaal.”

There was a pause in the room.

Commander Iverson’s face was still contorted in suspicion. “And your…biochemical warfare experiment on Princess Allura? Will you use something like that against your allies?”

The exhausted emperor sat there in surprise, his pale face slowly blooming with a blush of pure violet, his ears flicking back. He seemed excessively young in that moment. “…Warfare experiment?”

His eyes slid to Allura.

She looked back in horror and embarrassment, then tried to cut in, “As I said, I am not under any sort of control as you fear. The whole thing is a misunderstanding.”

Commander Iverson did not look away from Lotor. “He should defend himself,” he murmured. “What was it, Emperor Lotor? You look unsettled.”

“Because I am,” he confessed, voice straining. He glanced about at his allies in search of someone to save him. “Truly, any harm done to Allura was unintentional. She is fully innocent and I hope fully recovered by now.” He tapped his long, clawed fingers on the table, pressing his lips together. “It, ah.” He cleared his throat. “What happened was most certainly not a biochemical warfare experiment.”

“Then what was it?” Commander Iverson demanded again, narrowing his one good eye at Lotor. “I’ve got reports here that you somehow controlled and seduced Princess Allura. Are you trying to weaken your allies by spreading your genes through mind-controlled women?”  

Allura barely managed to hide a squeak as she pressed her full lips together, her dark cheeks blooming with a blush that rivaled Lotor’s. She sunk down in her chair some.

Lotor swallowed hard, then raised his chin. “I am offended by your accusation, Commander.” His blush had stretched from his sharp cheeks down his neck and up to the tips of his elfin ears. His voice sharpened. “I would never take anyone against their will, nor did I intentionally seek to control Princess Allura. You simply do not understand Galran biology.”

“Then enlighten us,” the commander said flatly. “Because if you’re doing this, then the millions of other Galrans can do it too, and I don’t like the sound of that.”  

The emperor stood up, his white hair in a flair about his shoulders. His voice was tight. “If you must know, then the truth is that amongst Galrans, I am of age to search for a mate. Our biological pheromones allow us to actively…encourage or delight a suitable partner. But in my sickness, I lost control of such, thereby attracting the attention of such a partner.”

Samuel Holt’s eyebrows flew up. Commander Iverson blinked. Dayak’s eyes narrowed, and she snapped the pen in her hand.

Several alliance members grabbed for the popcorn and looked to Princess Allura, who had frozen entirely, her eyes wide as dinner plates.  

Lotor hesitated. “Princess Allura was most affected for a variety of reasons.” His handsome face was still fully flushed as he attempted to stand proudly in the midst of looking like a scolded child. “Know that my own people would see my lapse of control as a great offense. Per Galran culture, Princess Allura can demand a befitting reparation for any perceived injury to her honor.” He raised his hands in loss.

The alliance members then turned to look at Allura, munching on their popcorn.

The princess sat there in a shock that he would reveal something so intimate and innate to his biology. She cleared her throat before managing to say, face still red, “I received your letter about it, yes.”

Samuel Holt hesitantly reached out for one of the few remaining shrimp on the lunch plate before him. “And, uh, Princess Allura—have you decided on a reparation?”

Coran leaned forward in a huff. “Now, I say. This all seems to be rather personal, don’t you think? Why, my Pop-Pop Wimbleton always said you just can’t butt into everyone’s business all willy nilly, gossiping like a bleating pack of Yelmors. Princess Allura is—”

“—I have not yet decided upon a reparation," Allura cut in, voice tight. Her blue and purple eyes focused on Lotor for the briefest of ticks before she said as diplomatically as possible, “I understand my esteemed colleague could not help such a lapse in the midst of his…slipperies. So I will take this knowledge into account. For now, let us please return to discussing quintessence redistribution. I feel doing so would be a better use of our time.”

On the other side of the table, Lotor watched Allura and moved to speak earnest words to her about his desire to make things right. Dayak grabbed for the hem of Lotor’s tunic to discreetly force him to sit back down. “Do not respond to her,” she hissed softly, for his ears alone. “Don’t do it.”

The man made a noise in the back of his throat before accepting Dayak’s advice, looking down at his forgotten datapad on the table as he sat down. His sickly face was still flushed with embarrassment and horror that his first major peace negotiation had somehow descended into a nightmare revealing that he had—as the humans called it—quite the crush on Princess Allura.

Now everyone who could put two and two together would know.

Lotor sat there with a stiff spine, lips pressed together in the silence. “Yes,” he eventually said, his velvet voice straining hard. “I would appreciate a return to the topic of quintessence distribution as well.”

Meanwhile, Commander Iverson’s face twitched. His expression grimaced in such a way that he appeared to either be increasingly angry or…ready to laugh out loud. He stared between Emperor Lotor and Princess Allura in consternation.

“Well,” he grunted, “just as long as you’re not sliding around here with your slippery sickness or seducing unsuspecting people, I suppose we can get back to business.”

Lotor’s eye twitched.

But beneath the table, his clawed fingertips tapped nervously upon his knee. He prayed that the Galra Empire remained ignorant of his slippery-induced slipup.

Most of all, he prayed that one Princess Allura had been of sound mind when she had sent her forgiving letter a few days ago. Because he was fairly certain he would do anything in the universe—even something terribly idiotic—to regain her favor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks all for being patient with me during my hiatus from writing. Hoping to update TSL and AR next, but I imagine this story will have at least another chapter or two. Please let me know if you have any ideas, constructive criticisms, questions, or requests! Thanks again!

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed the first part of this crazy story! Please let me know your thoughts and if there's anything in particular you'd like to see!


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